


Roommates

by A_fighter_like_Eowyn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Geralt Whump Week (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier Whump Week (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Friendship, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slow Romance, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, True Love, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_fighter_like_Eowyn/pseuds/A_fighter_like_Eowyn
Summary: Jaskier moves to a new town with a new job and checks into a new apartment. And his landlord tells him that he has a roommate.Little does he know that said roommate would turn out to be his ex-lover from his college days (more accurately, the love of his life, for the man never gave him back his poor heart). And the very man who rejected Jaskier's love the day after he graduated and left. Heck, Jaskier can still hear him saying, "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to takeyouoff my hands!"How on earth is Jaskier supposed to survive this rather special roommate??!!!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 151





	Roommates

Jaskier quivers with barely contained excitement as he alights from the Doon Express, and begins bouncing up and down like an ecstatic five-year-old the moment his feet touch the floor of the platform. The middle-aged, scarlet-uniformed porter, who bustles up to him almost immediately and insists on carrying his two rather dauntingly heavy suitcases for a small sum of money, stands eyeing him suspiciously as the young lecturer gapes wide-eyed up at the pristine blue skies overhead. His cornflower-blue irises reflect the downy, cotton-white tufts of clouds that are adrift on a crisp, light breeze, and he breathes deeply in the clean, fresh, cold air of the mountains. 

It is a miracle that Jaskier does not trip over his own feet as he follows the now-smirking porter out of the Dehradun Railway Station like an exhilarated, slightly dazed puppy. His exuberance receives a massive boost once he hops on one of the garishly painted buses that ply daily between the state capital of Dehradun and the township of Mussoorie about 35 kilometres away, and hurriedly occupies a window seat. After years spent amidst the raucous cacophony and the breathless, exhausting scramble through the mundane daily regimen of life in some of the biggest cities of the country, his heart expands impossibly as he lets the hushed serenity of the Garhwal Himalayas envelop him completely. Jaskier's eyes go round as saucers as he gazes out the window at the lushly verdant evergreen rain forests of lofty pines, firs, spruces, cedars, oaks, birches and poplars mantle the rolling foothills of the Sivaliks like a velvety blanket in myriad shades of green. He peers into the distance, at the mighty, snow-wreathed peaks of the Himachal and Himadri ranges that stand proud and forbidding and impassable, their white crests mottled with purple-blue streaks glittering brilliantly in the noonday sun.

Jaskier is about to begin the first stable job of his life - that of a lecturer in a small but scholastically renowned college in Mussoorie - and he has temporarily reserved a small (but as far as he can tell from photographs received on the mail, quite prettily furnished and cozy) apartment for his lodging. Getting off the bus at the main bus station, he hires a cab to get to the address he has been provided (walking would have been ideal in order to enjoy the scenery, but the combined weight of the suitcases dissuade him from that prospect). And he literally skips down the gravelly path leading up to the quaint, white-washed villa-style building that stands jutting out of the sheer face of a rocky cliff. 

The owner - a kindly old Garhwali man and a well-known local merchant - greets him with a broad smile at the door. Jaskier nearly hugs the man - so elated is he with the view from the wide, open balcony of his new apartment - and the man laughs at his childlike glee and at what currently seems to be his perpetually mesmerized expression. The owner, whose name is Amarnath (and Jaskier calls him Amarnath-ji), methodically instructs his new tenant in the important to-do's and not-to-do's of life in Mussoorie - from where the local grocery stores and fruit-and-vegetable markets are to exactly how much he should bargain with the sellers and shopkeepers, where the best orchards are and how Jaskier must never go picking berries and orchids alone in the wilderness, and a plethora of details regarding sightseeing in and around the municipality, from Lal Tibba to the Gun Hill to the Kempty Falls. Jaskier scribbles away vigorously in his notepad, making Amarnath-ji smile indulgently at his endless enthusiasm.

Before he leaves, Amarnath-ji hands over the keys of the apartment to Jaskier.

"Please remember, Jaskier-beta, that there is another apartment adjoining yours. This house is built in such a manner that two families can live side by side inside its premises. You don't have to worry - but keep in mind that your apartment shares a nice, big common room cum dining space with the other apartment."

Jaskier nods eagerly. "And is there someone living there now?"

"Yes, there is. That one's a very nice boy too, though older than you, and far, far more reclusive and reticent. He is very bright too - just like you - working as a scientist here at DRDO."

"Wow! He works at the Defense Department? That's so cool!", Jaskier nearly whistles, thoroughly impressed.

Amarnath-ji laughs. "I'm sure that in time, you two would become fast friends. But give him time ... he needs time to warm up to people. Certainly far longer than you do, Beta!"

********************************************************************************************************

The next morning, Jaskier wakes up bright eyed and bushy tailed, and immediately hurtles out into the sun-dappled balcony. His eyes seem in danger of popping out of their sockets as he breathlessly takes in the scenery unfolding in front of him - the sky above is streaked in a hundred different shades of rose and orange and gold and the palest blue, while the distant snow-draped peaks stand blushing in the early morning sun, the eastern halves of their summits turning an ethereal shade of pale gold while the western halves still remain cloaked in shadow. Jaskier - barefoot and clad in nothing but his flimsy nightclothes - isn't bothered by the icy early-morning draft in the slightest as he stands looking utterly entranced, his fingers curled around the balustrade, his chest heaving as he inhales deeply. 

And without warning, he bursts into song!

_Where am I? Where am I now?_  
_The road is full of doubts and despair, hopes and fear -  
Yet look where it has led me to ...  
Meandering up the tallest mountains,  
Plunging into the deepest vales,  
Serpentine, it runs .... _

So lost in his own melodious voice and the lyrics and the emotions filling him up he is that he doesn't hear the quiet click of a door being softly opened, somewhere behind him ...

_And I follow it, let it sweep me off where it wills --  
My feet they tire not, for my heart brims with hopes  
As I travel by a merry little stream, or  
A thunderous waterfall gushing down rugged slopes --  
I think not what lies ahead,  
I pause not to ponder the future,  
I remember not what I left behind  
For the past is naught but a spectre._

Jaskier's eyes are now closed, and his face is lit up with the morning light streaming down upon him as the sun continues to climb higher in the sky. His voice quavers with all the emotions surging through him, and it steadily rises to a crescendo as he comes closer to the end of the little song that is his own composition. 

And he neither hears nor feels the presence of someone drawing closer behind him, leaning on the balustrade and listening intently to his voice.

_All I know is I've got to savour  
Every moment of this beautiful journey,  
Relish every step I take, every stop I make  
On this glorious, unknowable, unforeseeable journey,  
And cherish with all my heart every precious memory....  
C’est la vie! That's life! _

He ends on a high, trilling note, and then exhales, finally opening his eyes.

"How I've missed this voice ...", comes a quiet remark in a pleasantly deep baritone.

Jaskier whirls around, his right hand automatically flying to where his heart has begun racing, hammering painfully hard in his rib-cage. 

A staggeringly handsome man stands in the balcony right next to Jaskier's own, leaning casually against the balustrade with his face angled towards Jaskier. The chill morning breeze ruffles his luxurious milk-white tresses that cascade down on either side of his regally beautiful face, and the sun makes the tresses appear lustrous and shimmering like gossamer strands. The proud brow, the noble nose, the chiseled jawline, the broad shoulders, the sculpted chest apparent through the soft cotton of his nightshirt - all contribute to making him look like an angel fallen to Earth. And perhaps the most riveting of all are his eyes - an uncanny, rare shade of deep amber flecked with gold, the irises glimmer as they catch the sunbeams. And a small, indescribably fond smile plays on his firm (but very kissable, if you care to ask Jaskier) lips.

Jaskier's mouth hangs open in a perfect 'o'.

"Hello again, Jask", comes the soft, rather affectionate greeting, and the baritone becomes deeper and somehow a tad sombre.

"Ge-geralt?!", Jaskier squeaks, stuttering, his eyes portraying utter incredulity as he gawks at the man in front of him, "You ... you ..."

"Your new roommate, it seems", and Geralt's smile widens.

*****************************************************************************************************************

Geralt persuades a still utterly flabbergasted, stammering Jaskier into joining him for breakfast and coffee in the rather capacious and tastefully furnished common room that the two apartments share.

"Please, have a seat."

"I - I ... you don't ... I mean, you don't have to ..."

"I know, Jask. But if I remember right what Amarnath Chacha said, you arrived yesterday afternoon, yes? Have you had any chance to go shopping for groceries yet? I thought not. It only makes sense, therefore, that as your roommate, I graciously offer to make you some breakfast, yes?"

"Geralt, I don't want to be a bother ..."

"You are never a bother, Jaskier", comes the immediate, solemn reply, cutting off Jaskier's babble.

The two men stand there, holding each other's gaze - cornflower-blue orbs locked with amber-gold ones - until Jaskier feels the room grow almost unbearably hot. With an effort, he tears his eyes off his roommate's and fixes his downcast gaze on a spot on the Mirzapuri-kilim-rug-covered floor, shifting from one foot to another. And then, he speaks in a small, barely audible voice.

"That's not what you said last time."

"I know."

Jaskier's head whips up, and his eyes widen as he watches Geralt's expression crumple and his eyes dip down, guilt and shame and pain and self-loathing radiating off him in waves and striking Jaskier square in the chest.

"And I have regretted that day - that moment - ever since. With every breath I have drawn since then, Jaskier."

Geralt sounds utterly wretched, and his voice breaks on the last word.

"Geralt ..."

"Anyway", Geralt hastily clears his throat, and pretends to tuck stray strands behind his ear while surreptitiously wiping at his now-slightly-red-rimmed eyes (an action that Jaskier's keen eyes do not miss), "Let's have breakfast, shall we? What would you like?"

He turns away from Jaskier, quickly making his way over to the adjoining kitchen area (which is bigger than the private kitchenettes that both apartments possess). He begins taking out pots and pans and utensils from cabinets and drawers, his back turned to the still standing and rather bemused looking Jaskier.

"So, what would you like?", Geralt finally turns to meet Jaskier's eyes, the pained expression from before now masked behind a facade of forced joviality, "You still have that irresistible affinity towards luchis and parathas? Remember, how you used to gobble up an entire stack of luchis with aloo dum back in the dorm's dining hall?"

A rare laugh bubbles up out of Geralt's throat, and Jaskier thinks he has never heard a more pleasing sound, nor seen a more alluring sight than the corners of Geralt's beautiful eyes crinkling in mirth and his head thrown back in laughter. 

Jaskier still cannot quite believe his eyes, his senses. His mind feels hazed and sluggish, like it is sinking into some sort of torpor, and he still cannot quite bring himself to speak in full, coherent sentences. 

_Can this really be true? That he is standing in front of the love of his life? Right from his college days?_

_That life has brought him face to face once again with the very man who stole his heart all those years back?_

_Not to mention that he never got his heart back. Never._

_Geralt snatched it from his hands all those years back, and kept it inside his own rib-cage. And never ever gave it back to Jaskier._

"Jaskier?"

Jaskier is jerked back to the present with a startled "Wha-what?"

"You look lost in thought. Are you reminiscing about old times too?", asks Geralt, a soft smile playing on his lips as he comes to stand in front of the younger man.

Jaskier blushes, and his eyes dip down.

"May I make you some luchis with aloo dum? Or would you prefer some chhole bhature? I was going to make some today morning anyway, so I rested the dough overnight ..."

"Geralt, really, you don't have to go into so much trouble ..."

And Jaskier's protests are cut short as Geralt just steps forward and clasps his smaller hands in his own large and roughly calloused ones, and Jaskier can barely suppress a contented sigh as he nearly melts into the touch, his body responding automatically to its contact with Geralt's extremely warm skin.

"It is no trouble, Jask. Please believe me", and Jaskier feels a violent urge to tightly hug Geralt at the note of earnest, near-desperate beseeching in the older man's voice.

Instead, he adjusts his hands in Geralt's grasp so that he is able to curl his fingers around Geralt's palms.

"Alright", he smiles, and hopes Geralt does not see the traitorous tears pricking his eyes, "I'll allow you to pamper me today."

****************************************************************************************************************

Geralt makes a delectable breakfast of chhole bhature, and brews a nice, strong coffee for the both of them. Jaskier's astonishment grows as he watches his new roommate add a couple of sugar cubes and several spoonfuls of steaming milk to his coffee and then hands him the comfortably hot ceramic mug.

"You remember", Jaskier says softly, his eyes full of disbelieving happiness.

"Well, yes, I do remember what an insatiable sweet tooth you had", Geralt smiles shyly, and Jaskier's heart skips a beat, "Can't forget all those times you stole my share of after-dinner desserts."

"And you let me", Jaskier deadpans, "Despite how much of a sugar-addict you yourself were. Still are, if the amount of sugar you added to your own coffee is anything to go by."

Geralt snorts goodnaturedly, "Didn't want to have a pesky junior drive me nuts begging me for extra helpings of desserts."

"Is that why you let me?"

Geralt looks up from his own platter of piping hot chhole bhature, his eyes holding a hesitant look as they meet Jaskier's own.

"Or was it more because if I had instead gone to the dorm's cooks and begged _them_ for an additional mithai, they would have scolded me? Perhaps boxed my ears? Complained to the dorm's superintendent?", Jaskier's voice holds the unmistakable hint of a challenge as he looks Geralt square in the eye.

Geralt gulps, and looks down. He resumes eating, albeit more slowly, and says nothing.

"It's strange, you know. How you and I ... we never even _tried_ to keep track of each other's whereabouts post-university."

Jaskier tries very, very hard, but he knows he is failing to keep out the accusatory note from his voice. His eyes smart with a strange burning sensation, and he looks away from Geralt's downcast face, suddenly feeling bitter and resentful. And he finds that he has lost his appetite, though thankfully most of his plate is already empty. 

Geralt still says nothing. Jaskier can see out of the corner of his eye that he is having difficulty swallowing, and he hasn't even tried to put another morsel in his mouth, but one small corner of Jaskier's mind stubbornly refuses to feel the slightest pity for the man.

_For the man who so cruelly shoved him away all those years ago. So heartlessly rejected his love, spurned his affections, and sent him away from his side._

And so, he barrels on.

"Did you marry her?"

Geralt's head whips up, and his eyes hold an agonized gleam as they briefly meet Jaskier's before dipping down again. 

"No", comes the short answer, in a very small voice.

"Why? Did you find someone better?", Jaskier asks testily, and he can't keep out the tiniest hint of contempt and derision from his tone, despite inwardly feeling mortified at his own line of questioning.

Geralt slumps, and Jaskier aches to reach out and comfort him. But he does not. And after a few minutes, Geralt sniffs, runs a hand over his face, then looks up with a tired smile plastered on his face.

"Yes, I did. Actually, I already had someone better when I met her. But I was stupid, and I pushed him away. And he was so hurt that he never came back. And since then, I've been alone."

Jaskier is vaguely aware of his lower lip beginning to tremble as he stares at Geralt, and his mind distantly registers the tears spilling over and running down his cheeks like little rivulets.

Geralt snatches up one of the patterned-cloth-napkins sitting in a woven basket on the coffee table next to the sofa, and scooting forward, wordlessly begins wiping away said tears, while Jaskier stares at him, dumfounded. 

"Please", Geralt whispers, his own face inches away from Jaskier's tear-streaked one, his hot breath ghosting over Jaskier's skin, raising goosebumps, "Please don't cry. I've made you shed enough tears."

And that makes Jaskier's long-pent-up anger boil over. 

"SO ALL THESE YEARS, YOU MADE US _BOTH_ SUFFER, MADE US _BOTH_ LANGUISH IN MISERY, FOR _NOTHING_? _NOTHING!_ "

Jaskier can probably count on the fingers of a single hand how many times in his life he has lost his temper and raised his voice. He is known for his mild, non-confrontational demeanour, and for being a resolute pacifist. And now, as he lashes out from the intense, indescribable pain that he has had to quash and smother and bury deep in his heart for such a long time, Geralt flinches, moving away a few inches as if the venom in Jaskier's voice scalds his skin and sears his mind.

"And here I was, thinking that at least one of us went away happy. One of us is happily married and settled and probably has adorable, waddling little kids ..."

"Jaskier ...", Geralt pleads, and his voice cracks.

"What "Jaskier"? Huh? You remember the words you hurled at me the day after your graduation ceremony? DO YOU?"

Geralt just flops down on the floor, resigned, all his strength drained from his system. He sits there with his head hanging and his hands lying pooled in his lap, not a word leaving his lips. And Jaskier does not need to check to know that there is a steady stream of tears dripping down onto those upturned palms.

Jaskier is in no mood to relent, despite how his heart breaks seeing Geralt crumple like that, despondent and defeated and hurting so badly.

""You are a nuisance - you mess up everything good in my life, Jaskier! Every time I'm with you, I find myself in a spiraling downfall! Well, good riddance, I say, now that I have graduated! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take _you_ off my hands." Remember? REMEMBER, GERALT? REMEMBER?", Jaskier yells, visibly shaking in rage and long-suppressed pain.

And at that, Geralt lets out a choked, strangled noise, hides his face in his hands and begins to sob in earnest, his whole frame shaking as he slides further down till he is nearly lying face down on the floor.

And Jaskier, himself weeping and clutching his chest, stands up and walks out of the common room, slamming the door behind him.

********************************************************************************************************************

Jaskier spends the next two hours alternating between seething in fury and sobbing helplessly into his pillow as his body lies writhing in pain on his rumpled bed. He is thankful that the distressed sounds are muffled by the pillow. 

Two hours later, Jaskier feels exhausted. And there is a boulder sitting on his chest - a boulder of pain and hurt and frustration and an all-encompassing sense of unfairness. And guilt. He is wracked with guilt.

He shakily rises from his bed, takes in his disheveled, distraught countenance in the mirror affixed to the almirah-door, splashes frigid water from the faucet onto his puffy, reddened face and combs his hair to give it a modicum of its usual kempt appearance. Then, trying to stifle the occasional sniffles that still escape him, he makes his way into the now-empty common room, and towards the now-closed door of the other apartment.

*******************************************************************************************************************

Jaskier knocks softly on the burnished, dark-brown oak door. A heartbeat later, the door opens with a soft click, and Jaskier's heart picks up pace as a rather disconsolate looking Geralt appears, his eyes lowered and his brow furrowed in a pained frown. 

Geralt says nothing - he just stands there, breathing heavily, as if waiting for Jaskier to pronounce his sentence. And Jaskier's heart breaks all over again at that.

"Are you free today?"

Geralt's anguished expression morphs into one of befuddlement, but he still des not meet Jaskier's eyes.

"Free?", he asks, very hesitant.

"Yes. I mean, today's a Saturday. Are you ... do you usually go to the DRDO on Saturdays?"

"N-no. N-not all Saturdays of the year. Just a few."

"Well, then, would you be agreeable to the idea of ... um ... showing me around Mussoorie? I've never been here before ...", Jaskier tries to keep his voice level, but he knows that a wee bit of cautious hope seeps into it anyway.

And Geralt raises his eyes at last. And Jaskier aches to see how bloodshot and wet they are, and how the tear-tracks glisten on Geralt's cheeks. 

"You ... you want me to ... you really want _me_ to ..."

"Yes, if you please", Jaskier smiles encouragingly.

And Geralt bursts into tears a second time. 

And before he can help himself, Jaskier throws his arms around the stupid, stupid, ridiculously immature oaf's neck and pulls him in. Geralt instantly melts into that embrace, and burrows his face into Jaskier's shoulder, and cries until Jaskier's shirtfront is soaked through.

****************************************************************************************************************

"Where would you like to go first?"

"Wherever _you_ suggest. Which place is your favourite?"

"I absolutely love Mussoorie. All of it."

"I do remember your obsession with the Himalayas, Geralt", says Jaskier quietly.

A few minutes pass in silence. Geralt steals a swift, surreptitious glance at Jaskier, then rising from his bed (where they have both been sitting, sagging against each other, arms encircling each other), he walks to his (impressively massive) bookcase, picks out a thick paperback and brings it back.

Jaskier's eyes widen as he takes the proffered volume. The crimson cover with its elegant spatters of orange and chrome-yellow is only slightly faded, and the corners barely dogeared, but the book has the undeniable appearance of one that has been frequently taken out of the bookshelf and read (albeit with great care).

Embossed black letters on the cover read: _Rhododendrons in the Mist - My Favourite Tales of the Himalaya_ , and underneath it, in bigger white letters, _Ruskin Bond._

"You kept it! You kept it all these years with you!", Jaskier says in a hushed, incredulous whisper.

Geralt's face falls. "I have kept every bit of everything you have ever given me, Jask. And you think I would not treasure the books you gave me on my birthdays? Especially _this_ book?"

Jaskier offers him a watery smile. "Sorry. Shouldn't have phrased it like that. And yeah, you did say back then it was the best birthday gift you ever received."

"It is still very much the best birthday gift I've received till date. I have never received anything I cherish more. Nor from anyone more precious."

And Jaskier stares up breathlessly as his mind registers the total conviction and utter sincerity in Geralt's voice. 

*****************************************************************************************************************

"Bhaiya, can you please take us to Lal Tibba?", Geralt instructs the taxi driver, who nods and sets off.

They chat all the way to the popular viewpoint and tourist hotspot, though at this time of the year, the swarm of visitors is expected to be less, fortunately. The two men reminisce about the bygone days, and laugh, and sometimes they become quiet and sombre, and one's hand reaches out and takes hold of the other's, clasping it warmly, caressing the knuckles. They steal soft glances at each other, a shy smile never far from lighting up their faces, nor a blush from creeping up their cheeks. The driver occasionally throws them a knowing smile, and eventually, he turns on the radio inside the cab, and a lovely, lilting movie score plays out ...

_Shikaayatein mitaane lagee --  
Subah bedaag hai, subah bedaag hai ...  
Jo barf ko galaane lagee --  
Kahin to aag hai, kahin to aag hai ..._

_And the grievances are slowly erased, the bitterness fades away, and healing begins --  
And that is why this morning has dawned bright and clear and unblemished ...  
See how the ice is gradually thawed --  
There's a flame of hope and love here somewhere - may be small and buried deep, but it burns fiercely still, and its warmth permeates the soul ..._

They stand side by side upon the fenced terrace of Lal Tibba, and peer into the distance, marveling at the beauty of the bluish-violet Himadri range far, far off. The peaks, even from this distance, appear imposing, and Geralt points out the notable ones to Jaskier: "That one there is the Nilkantha Peak of Badrinath, and the aerial distance between Mussoorie and Badrinath is at least 140 kilometres! Can you believe that? And that one there is the Kedarnath Peak, and that is about 101 kilometres away from here. Can you imagine how high these peaks are? Each is more than 6,500 metres above the sea level."

Jaskier laps it all up, his expression enraptured and his eyes twinkling. And he watches Geralt in awe as the older man regales him with a ton of interesting details about Lal Tibba, and Mussoorie itself - the history, the culture, the heritages, the scenic spots. 

"Hey Jask?"

"Yes, Geralt?"

"Let's come here again, tomorrow. At dusk."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Then we can see the winterline. It's mid-October now, so it should be very prominently visible provided tomorrow it does not rain. Which I don't think it will."

"What's a winterline?"

"Something very mysterious", Geralt winks at Jaskier, and Jaskier cannot help but be reminded of the very boyish, very charming Geralt who was three years his senior in college, and who he was utterly smitten with from day one, "Its reason for occurrence is still not clear to meteorologists and physicists. But they have some theories. It's a kind of ... um ... false horizon. But let's not spoil the surprise for you. You'll see for yourself tomorrow."

And Jaskier cannot help how his heart lurches at the way Geralt beams at him, his amber eyes suffused with a soft, endearing glow yet betraying a hint of insecurity, as if he fears Jaskier would reject his proposal of visiting Lal Tibba together again, the next day.

Jaskier says nothing. Just moves closer, and intertwines his fingers with Geralt's.

And they stand there on Lal Tibba, hand in hand, gazing out into the distance, the Himalayas keeping watch over them.

****************************************************************************************************************

They hop onto another cab, and the friendly Sikh driver sets off for the picturesque Kempty Falls upon Geralt's request, this time a slightly rowdy Bhangra dance score blaring out of the cab's radio. 

"So, how's Vesemir Chacha?"

"He's good. He's developed a bit of a back pain of late, and I worry about him because of that. But you know how he is - waves all my concerns off and tells me to go have adventures of my own. Says I am becoming too senile", Geralt laughs, and Jaskier joins in.

"Also, Eskel and Lambert - they are doing well. But they still talk about you. I don't think Lambert ever forgave me", Geralt admits quietly.

Jaskier swallows, pushing past the lump in his throat. "I miss Lambert Bhaiya too. And Eskel."

Geralt sighs, then scoots closer and rests his head on Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier takes both his hands in his own and squeezes them, before he notices the cab driver smirking as he surreptitiously watches them in his rearview mirror.

"They miss you too. Lambert ... he did not speak to me for such a long time ... after ... after I ..."

"Shush, Geralt. It's okay, love. We'll fix it all."

Geralt lifts his head and stares into Jaskier's eyes, and his expression is so piteous and wretched and imploring and torn between hope and self-loathing that Jaskier scoops him up in a fierce hug.

"Can we, Jask? Will you ... will you give me another chance, Jasky? Can you? I am such a mon--"

"No!", Jaskier says firmly, his palm coming to rest on Geralt's lips, cutting the older man's self-denigration short, "Do not ever say that word. You promised me once, you would never call yourself that. Never again. You are not allowed to break that promise."

****************************************************************************************************************

They sit side by side on the damp, moss-covered rocks that line the deep, turquoise-blue pool where the foamy waters of the thundering Kempty Falls plunge down from an altitude of 4,500 feet above the sea level. Their sturdy trekking boots lie discarded on one side as they immerse their feet in the crystal-clear, ice-cold waters of the pool and wiggle their toes, laughing like children and falling on top of each other. 

"Sing something", says Geralt suddenly.

"Oh, um ... something to do with waterfalls, you mean?"

"Whatever you like."

Jaskier sings a few lines of one of the timeless classics from the 1958 film Madhumati. The lyrics speak of a swiftly flowing mountain stream that hurries down the highlands and into the plains, eager to meet her lover, the ocean, at her journey's end. 

Geralt's eyes sparkle with joy as he listens, rapt, to Jaskier's melodious voice rise and fall, and before he can help himself, he snakes an arm around Jaskier's shoulder and pulls him close, flush against his own chest. Jaskier leans in, his head resting right underneath Geralt's chin, and his eyes closing in an unprecedented feeling of bliss that even a few hours back he could not have imagined would be possible in this lifetime.

"Jasky?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you remember what I told you the first day you sang to me? That heavy metal song that did not suit your soft, sweet voice at all?"

Jaskier lifts his head and glares up at Geralt, pouting, but that only elicits a fond chuckle from the older man.

"Yes, I remember alright. You said that my singing was equivalent to ordering a pie and finding that it has no filling inside."

"No, not your singing, Jasky. Just your attempt to sing something that you knew very well would not go with the tonal quality of your voice. And you do remember what it was that especially disappointed me?"

Jaskier smiles now, and briefly touches Geralt's chin with his fingers, making the older man blush and his eyelids flutter.

"You did not like the fact that I presumed you would enjoy heavy metal. You did not like it that I would try to sing something only to please _you_ , rather than sing something that makes my _own_ heart joyous and happy."

"That's exactly right. And you know that I know the kind of songs that make you happy. Old and lovely Hindi songs are definitely one of those genres. But what about Hindustani classical, Jaskier? You used to be besotted with all those beautiful ragas and raga-based songs. Yet both times today that I have heard you sing, you never even made any mention of it."

Jaskier sits up, no longer leaning against Geralt. His expression darkens, and he looks away, making Geralt frown. Worriedly, the older man places a hand on the younger one's shoulder, an unspoken question lingering between them.

"You - you remember Essie?"

"Of course I remember Essie. Your little cousin, who used to accompany you on the sarod in nearly every concert on classical music you performed in, no?"

"Yes."

"What of her, Jasky?"

"Essie ... Essie ... we lost Essie, Geralt. She died two years back. Leukemia."

Geralt draws a sharp breath, his heart cracking. He pulls Jaskier into a hug, the younger man's back flush against his chest, as Jaskier draws his knees up to his chest and weeps softly, his face hidden from Geralt. Geralt's hands run up and down Jaskier's arms, comforting him, rubbing soothing circles on his skin. Eventually, Jaskier calms down a bit, sniffling and raising his head. 

"Once she was gone, I ... I couldn't sing anymore. Like, I tried. Very hard. Many, many times. But every time I sat down to do riyaz ... my ... my voice would fail me. I would turn my head to give Essie some instruction, only to remember that she ... that she's gone, Geralt. And it would ... mess up my focus. I just ... I could never get over that void. And my ... my voice would fail me."

Geralt listens to it all, his own eyes shining wetly, while he tries his best to comfort the dismal, distraught Jaskier.

"So ... you know ... eventually, I ... I gave up. I know you won't approve. I know how obsessed you are _yourself_ with Hindustani classical music. But I ... I just ..."

"Jasky, I understand."

Geralt tucks Jaskier's face deeper into the confines of his chest, and Jaskier sighs heavily, sagging against him. Geralt strokes the back of Jaskier's head, his fingers threading through the silken chestnut-brown hair, and Jaskier lets out a contented moan.

"I do not believe that this is the end of your tryst with classical music, you know", Geralt says softly, after a few moments, "Classical music never ever abandons someone as dedicated and incredibly skilled as you were, Jaskier. _Are_ , in fact", he adds, correcting the tense.

Jaskier scoffs, but Geralt's voice only gains conviction, and his arms tighten around Jaskier.

"D-do you ... do you still ... play?", asks Jaskier, his voice slightly muted by the fact that he still has his face buried in the folds of Geralt's cashmere-wool sweater.

"I do. I can play for you tomorrow, if you like?"

Jaskier nods. "I'd like that very much."

The afternoon wears away fast, and the gathering gloom and plummeting temperature together force the two companions to reluctantly rise from their rocky seats and head back towards the main trail. 

"We should come back here. Maybe tomorrow? Before we head to Lal Tibba?"

Geralt turns his dimly glowing gold orbs towards Jaskier, and his face splits in an enthusiastic smile.

"You'd want that?"

"Very much. And let's bring a couple of towels and a spare set of clothes each. We can take a quick dip in the pool -- what do you say?"

****************************************************************************************************************

They go for grocery shopping together. Geralt insists on paying. When they come back home, Jaskier chops up all the veggies and the paneer, and grinds the spices into fine pastes, and Geralt meticulously and with great care prepares some scrumptious navratan korma, moong daal and basmati rice. Having foregone lunch on account of sightseeing, the two ravenous roommates devour all the food voraciously. And after dinner's over, Jaskier brings out the vanilla-chocolate ice-cream (that he whipped up right after returning home, with heavy cream and condensed milk and chocolate chunks, and then placed in the freezer to harden). And the two of them smack their lips after licking their ice-cream bowls clean.

"Let's leave the dishes for tomorrow", says Jaskier, giving up on his attempts to stifle a huge yawn, even as Geralt stands up and stretches languidly.

"Um, Jasky?"

"Mmm?"

"You ... um ... I mean ..."

Jaskier squints up at the older man, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Out with it", he commands briskly, and Geralt blushes a deep magenta.

"I mean ... I'm not sure if I should ask such a thing of you ... I mean, you never even said whether, you know, if you'll ... give me a second chance. B-but", Geralt visibly wilts underneath the withering gaze Jaskier is directing at him, and the words tumble out of his mouth in a rush, "I- I was wondering if ... if you'd ... like to ... sleep side by side tonight. Just to cuddle, nothing else. I have no other intention. I - I know you may not be ready, and you may - you should - take as much time as you need to ... to decide if ... you know ... but I ... I miss cuddling you."

He finishes miserably, hanging his head, looking equal parts hopeful and mortified.

"Okay, let's move our mattresses here", Jaskier states in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, standing up and bustling around, pushing the lighter of the two sofas further towards the wall to make room in the midst of the common area.

"Wait! You -- you're ... you're up for ..."

Jaskier scowls at Geralt as he stands up straighter, his arms akimbo. 

"You want cuddles or not?"

"Want. Definitely want", Geralt says immediately, his expression comical as he looks slightly intimidated by the brusqueness in Jaskier's tone while at the same time the relief and hope and happiness that flood him are almost palpable.

"Then get to work."

*****************************************************************************************************************

Jaskier flicks the light switch off, then rolls onto his side, scooting closer to Geralt, who immediately pulls him deeper into his muscular chest and kisses the top of his head, making Jaskier sigh happily.

"Hi there", says Geralt softly, as Jaskier lifts his eyes to meet his favourite amber-gold orbs.

"Hi", says Jaskier shyly.

"Thank you. For cuddling. I love cuddling with you."

"Me too. I love snuggling with you."

"I missed you, Jasky."

The pensive, mournful note is back in Geralt's voice.

And Jaskier cannot help it anymore. 

He cups Geralt's face with a hand, and then pulls him down ...

_... to meet his lips midway between them, and he captures his grumpy college-senior's lips in a soft yet deep, impassioned kiss ..._

_... and Geralt moans helplessly into his mouth, and his eyes slip closed ..._

_... and after many, many years, their tongues once more taste each other, explore each other, savour each other, love each other ..._

***************************************************************************************************************

Jaskier wakes at dawn the day after, to the mellifluous notes of the plaintive, sublimely enchanting Raga Bhatiyar being played on a bansuri.

He cracks his eyes open, a smile already gracing his lips, for he recognizes and knows by heart the sound of this bansuri. Has known it for a long, long time, and has missed it with all his being for the last several years. He rises from the mattress spread out on the floor, and pads over silently towards the source of the sound.

The door to Geralt's apartment stands ajar. Jaskier pushes it open and walks inside, then makes his way to the open balcony.

Geralt sits with his back to him, facing the mountains that once again blush in the rosy light of dawn as their eastern halves are slowly, gradually illuminated by the rising sun. He holds the bansuri to his lips, and plays. 

_And Jaskier thinks he has never heard anything sweeter. Anything purer. Anything more surreal. And certainly never in any setting more tranquil and otherworldly than the one he witnesses now with every fibre of his being._

Geralt senses his presence behind him and pauses in his playing. He looks up at Jaskier, and his features immediately light up with a smile brighter and sunnier than any Jaskier has seen so far.

"I know you are used to being accompanied by sarod when you sing your ragas. But I was wondering ... may be you could get used to being accompanied by a bansuri instead?"

**Author's Note:**

> The word "beta" (as in "Jaskier-beta") that I have used here is a Hindi word, and is not pronounced as "beta" is in English, but rather as "bayta", if that makes sense. It is used by parents to refer to their children (sometimes, daughters are referred to as "beti", but very often, both sons and daughters are lovingly called "beta") as well as by people considerably senior to young men and women to refer to them in an endearing fashion (even when the older person and the younger person are completely unrelated, or even stranger, to each other) :-)
> 
> The word "chacha" is used to address an uncle, but it is also very commonly used by a younger person to respectfully address an older man who may be unrelated or even a stranger to the younger person. This sort of honorifics are very common in Indian culture (or, well, the culture of the entire Indian subcontinent, really). 
> 
> Luchi is a Bengali-style fried flatbread, and very very yummy, that is usually enjoyed at breakfast or as a snack, and accompanied by something savoury or sweet. You can find more [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luchi). 
> 
> Parathas are also a kind of North-Indian style fried / toasted flatbreads (many of you may be familiar with "naan" - parathas are similar, though they usually contain more of unrefined wheat flour). Find more [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paratha).
> 
> Aloo dum or dum aloo is a very popular dish both in Bengal (which is in Eastern India) and in Northern India, and is a traditional dish developed by Kashmiri Pundits. More can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dum_Aloo).
> 
> Chhole bhature is a very popular North Indian dish, where the word "chhola" means chickpeas. More about it can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chole_bhature).
> 
> Clarification: in India, the word "junior" usually refers to a fellow student in a high school or college / university who is younger to oneself. Similarly, a "senior" or a "college-senior" usually refers to a fellow student in a college / university older than oneself.
> 
> If you want to know more about Ruskin Bond, who has lived for over 50 years in the Himalayas, in none other than Mussoorie itself, [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruskin_Bond) is a link (and [here](https://www.amazon.in/RHODODENDRONS-MIST-Favourite-Tales-Himalaya-ebook/dp/B081L33ZMM) is a link to the book I mentioned).
> 
> If you wish to listen to the (very real) Hindi song I mentioned here, well, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dloIQJ-gk9U&ab_channel=T-Series) it is :-)
> 
> The word "Bhaiya" is yet another honorific - it can be used to refer to one's older brother or older male cousin, or it can be used to address a male stranger of roughly one's own age or slightly older than oneself.
> 
> If you wish to know more about the stunning Lal Tibba, [here's](https://www.holidify.com/places/mussoorie/lal-tibba-sightseeing-2940.html) some info.
> 
> If you want to know more about the amazing Kempty Falls, [here's](https://www.holidify.com/places/mussoorie/kempty-falls-sightseeing-2938.html) an article.
> 
> If you want to know more about Hindustani classical music, well, no matter what I say would fail dismally at being able to truly define what an impossibly vast and ancient and intricate musical form it is. Still, [here's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindustani_classical_music) an article. And [here's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raga) an article on ragas. And [here's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riyaz#:~:text=Riyaz%20\(also%20Rriyaaz\)%20is%20a,as%20well%20as%20dancing%20forms) what "riyaz" means.
> 
> If you want to know more about the foods mentioned, then check out [navratan korma](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korma#Navratan_korma) and [daal or dal](dal%20/%20daal:%20https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dal).
> 
> If you want to know more about the Indian musical instruments I mentioned here, then [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarod) one is about sarod and [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bansuri) one is about bansuri.
> 
> Last but definitely not the least, [here's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhatiyar) some info on Raga Bhatiyar and [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsXWOBNb-VE&ab_channel=suhaspattanayak) a performance of the raga by my favourite singer.


End file.
